Yizkor
by celadon
Summary: We all find comfort from different places. And life and death are sometimes just flip sides of the same coin.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I started this one a long time ago - some time in season five - and hoped to have it done in time for All Souls Day this year. Clearly that did not happen, so now I'm posting it in honor of the new year, which I hope will be much more productive for me, fic-wise. It should post in two parts - maybe three._

_I have two huge projects finished as well as the month that ate my life over, so I hope to finish __**Carousel**__ shortly. From there, I have a number of open projects I am working on putting to bed. A happy new year to one and all._

_**Yizkor**_

_**One **_

Charlie Eppes punched the "End" button on his cell phone with more force than was actually necessary.

It was ridiculous, really, how someone could practically live with their cell phone attached to their ear on the one hand, and then suddenly drop out of sight as if they had never even owned one on the other. It created opposing poles in a single small circumference, defying logic. And he hated defying logic. Worse, he told himself indignantly, it was inconsiderate. Having a cell phone implied a certain level of availability - wearing it on your waist implied an even higher level - and ignoring it was - well, it was akin to lying.

Almost, he amended mentally.

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh.

He folded the small phone and tucked it away.

But if somebody carried a phone, then they should have the good manners to answer it, like other civilized beings. Like - well - like he did, for instance. Like he did most of the time, anyway.

Or meant to.

Okay, he might miss the occasional message. Or forget to recharge every once in a while. Or, every now and then he might forget to return a call. But only when he was in a particularly absorbing patch of time and afterwards he always…well, maybe not always…where had he been going with this again?

Oh, yeah.

He shouldered his way through the door and fumbled for the name tag hanging around his neck, flashing it at the security desk guard who nodded a greeting.

Manners. Civilization. Logical consistency of action. He punched the button to call the elevator. That people should recognize. And follow. Or suffer the wrath of their more civilized, logical, well mannered…brothers.

The ding of the elevator interrupted his catalog of virtues and he stepped through the doors and selected a floor.

In the broader spectrum - as in the brotherhood of human kind, of course.

The elevator rebounded slightly and the doors slid open. Charlie stepped forward with a purpose, determined that his resolution would not be diluted or distracted by any of the tantalizing remnants of the case puzzles floating around him. He kept his eyes straight ahead, firmly fixed in the direction of his brother's cubicle, finger lifted and mouth open and ready to expostulate. He took a deep breath, then swallowed it on a groan of frustration as he spotted the empty swivel chair. Damn him, anyway.

"Where is he?" he burst out.

He was vaguely aware of a familiar slender figure bearing a file that stopped just behind his left shoulder. "Hello, Charlie - always nice to see you too."

Charlie waved his hands in frustration. "Hi, Liz - I was just - where is he?"

"Emergency?" Liz sounded amused, but not unsympathetic.

"I've been trying to reach him for two days! It's like he just drops off the earth!"

"Ah." Liz moved herself until she was facing him. "Well, I'm sorry to tell you, but he's not here."

Of course. Damn him. How did he manage to stay one step ahead of him, even when he didn't know he was? He sighed. "When will he be back?" He tried to pretend that he didn't notice Liz's thoughtful head tilt in his direction. "Is it worth it to wait?"

"Not unless you brought meals and a change of clothes. He took the rest of the day off."

"Off?" Charlie blinked. "You mean like - a vacation day?"

Liz smiled. "I think more like a personal day but, yeah - a day off. He wasn't here more than an hour when he up and announced he was taking the day and would be back tomorrow. Left some instructions, grabbed his jacket, and was out of here."

Charlie opened his mouth, then closed it. Defying logic again. Double damn him. "He didn't say why?"

Liz chuckled. "Your brother isn't exactly chatty about his personal life."

"My brother isn't exactly chatty, period," Charlie retorted. He dropped into the swivel chair and ran his hands through his hair.

"Anything I can do for you?"

Charlie opened his mouth again, indistinct images involving handcuffs and guns and physical force drifting through his brain, then he snapped it shut and shook his head slightly to dispel them. Probably not really an answer anyway - even if he could get Liz to go along with it, which he doubted. "He drives me crazy," he complained plaintively.

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear it."

"I know." He frowned darkly. "He does it to _make_ me crazy."

"Oh, I don't think so." He watched Liz slide into her own swivel chair. "I think that's just a happy by-product." Her phone buzzed and she reached for it.

Charlie slumped more deeply into the desk chair. What should he do now? He could swing by Don's place.

"Sorry, Charlie – I'm going to have to go." He glanced up to see Liz slipping into her jacket. "Anything you want me to tell him in case I see him first?"

"No. Yes – tell him to turn on his cell phone so people can reach him."

She grabbed her purse and gave his shoulder a light slap as she passed. "I wouldn't take it personally. When you're a slave to it so much of the time, sometimes turning it off is the only way to get some peace."

Charlie wanted to tell her that that was a terrible excuse, but the truth was, it was a pretty good one. He had lost track of the number of dinners and plans Don's cell phone had interrupted – and odds were it interrupted even more sensitive moments. He flushed a little as he watched Liz's retreating back. Guess she would know. He averted his eyes quickly, as though she could hear his thoughts, let them slide aimlessly over the stacks of files and papers cluttering Don's desk. There was a printout on top bearing the FBI insignia and he absently picked up a few words, then paused and re-read more carefully. After a moment, he picked it up and read in earnest.

"Charlie!"

He was just finishing reading it for a second time when the sound of his name made him start. He lowered the paper guiltily, glanced over his shoulder. Liz stood there, arms folded, looking reproachful.

"You know better than this! Didn't your mother ever teach you not to go through other people's things?"

_She tried_. "I thought you were out on a call?" Evasive action had served him well in these situations in the past.

Liz didn't smile. "I came back for a file I'd forgotten." She gestured with the file. "Put that down."

Charlie feigned deafness, another strategy that had worked for him before, and instead lifted the paper in her direction. "What's this, a newsletter?"

She leaned into one hip, her expression mulish.

"Oh, come on, Liz – it doesn't look like anything confidential. What's the harm?"

Liz took a step forward and yanked it neatly from his fingers. "It doesn't matter what it is – it isn't yours. I'll tell Don you were looking for him."

Charlie leaned back in the swivel chair, nowhere near budging. "I mean, it looks like promotions, weddings, births, stuff like that. Transfers. And…deaths. One of them – it looked like he might have been in Don's Quantico class. One of the deaths, I mean."

Liz had been stuffing the newsletter in her file, but she paused at that. "Which one?"

"Jackson Bowers. I mean, it only gives a year, but – "

Liz was staring at the sheet now, her expression pensive. "Could be a different class, same year."

"Could be."

Her eyes stayed on the newsletter. "We lost an agent yesterday - had an agent involved shooting - it was a mess. Probably why you couldn't reach Don - those always mean conference after conference, contacting the families…tons of paperwork."

Charlie remained silent. A few years ago, he would have found the comment on paperwork cold - now he knew better. It was containment, a way to contain feelings when they were too big to deal with and things still needed to be taken care of right now. Liz was still frowning at the paper, so Charlie ventured, "The agent. Who…?"

"Mariana Sanchez. I don't think you know her. Knew, I guess."

"Was Don…?"

"His raid."

Charlie swallowed. God. He really didn't want to ask the next question, but his brain was already calculating likelihoods, so he couldn't stop himself. "And…the shooting. Who…?"

Liz glanced up from the paper and met his eyes. "Don took out the perp. Just a little too late for Mariana. It was clean - nothing anybody could have done, really."

Charlie pressed his lips together hard. "What - " he finally burst out, clenched his teeth and tried to sound more reasonable. "What was he doing here today then in the first place? Doesn't that kind of thing merit a day off?"

Liz tossed her hair over her shoulder and shrugged. "Yes. But some people find it easier to just keep moving. And you know Don."

_Yeah. I know Don. Feelings can't hit a moving target. _

Liz's cell trilled and she swore softly. "Charlie, I've gotta go. Look, if you see Don, tell him – " The little phone sounded again and she thumbed the button, "Yeah – on my way – just stopped to grab the file – " She shut the phone and shoved it back on her belt. "Tell him – sometimes your best is all you can do. And sometimes it just won't feel like enough."

Charlie smiled a little. "Pretty smart for someone who hasn't been an agent that long. Where'd you learn that?"

She tucked the file under her arm, her eyes glinting with wry humor. "Don. But even if you know it, sometimes you need to hear it." She lifted the file in a wave, moved towards the elevators. "Oh! And, Charlie?"

He spun the chair to keep her in view.

"Stop rifling through your brother's desk!"

_Yes, Mom. _He eyed the stack of papers reproachfully. _And I wasn't rifling. It was lying on top_. He moved his gaze dutifully away from the papers and stopped on the monitor instead. Hum. That page had looked like a download. Maybe…no. No. Liz was right, he shouldn't…

_On the other hand_….sounded like Don had had a rough time. Maybe he could use some company. Or a little help. Heaven knew he'd never ask for it. But if he could track him down…he rocked the swivel chair gently back and forth, contemplating the screen. It wasn't his fault, really, that Don made it so hard to help him. And that's all he had in mind. It was the brotherly thing to do. And if he had to do a few…slightly covert things…to do that, well, whose fault was that? Not his. Not really. He'd just as soon come right out and ask, but you couldn't ask somebody with their cell phone turned off – you had to track them down instead. You had to put in extra effort. Really, when you thought about it, Don's attempts to be low maintenance made him downright high maintenance. Not that Charlie begrudged the effort. Don was his only brother after all.

Feeling a pleasant glow of righteous virtue, he eyed the computer screen again. How much trouble would somebody get into for hacking into a federal computer? Or just overriding the password? Or maybe he should use deductive reasoning…let's see…where would Don go? The shooting range? Probably not, since it was on FBI property. And after what Liz said happened yesterday…no. Not the shooting range. Batting cages? Apartment? Both good possibilities. Bar? There were a couple nearby where FBI agents hung out. Of course…he glanced at his watch and frowned. Kind of early for a bar. It wasn't impossible, but…he hoped not a bar. Apartment would be a good place to start. He stood up slowly, casting an eye over the mounds of paper piled on the desk in front of him, trying to look without looking. Though he wasn't exactly sure who he was trying to hide it from since Liz was gone. Himself, maybe? Mom? He smiled a little, remembering Liz's remark, then the smile faded as something hit home. _Mom_.

Suddenly he was pretty sure he knew exactly where Don was.

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Well, it's a real headache trying to figure out where to split this one, so I finally settled on this spot. Looks like it divides into three parts. Thank you to all who reviewed, and it's nice to know that so many folks are enjoying __**Carousel**__ as well._

_**Part Two**_

It wasn't a place he came often. He still lived in the place he associated most with her, the place where he had always known her best, and that setting seemed to keep her closer than anywhere else. And he still wasn't convinced that there was any activity of the human spirit after life – except maybe decay. So the place held no warm associations for him, only sad ones, and he looked for her instead in the garden, or the garage, or the kitchen. He wasn't sure whether or not the same was true for Don. It was something they never talked about – one of a thousand things they never talked about but probably should: _How was it for you? Do you miss her? Do you ever see her, swear that she's right there with you?_

He wasn't sure exactly what Don believed, but he was pretty sure he was more open to the idea of life after death, of some kind of continuing on. It always struck him as odd, since on a day-to-day basis Don was so rock-hard practical, so immersed in facts and evidence and procedure. Maybe it was a way of coping with the amount of death he saw. Or maybe it was just his nature – Don had a surprising romantic streak, despite what he did for a living – or maybe because of it. Maybe too it took some sense of romance and openness to the possibilities to do what he did day after day and still believe that it was worth doing, that you could make a dent and a difference.

He glanced at the stone arch overhead, at the carved Hebrew letters curving across it, spelling…something. Something he suddenly felt he should be able to read and understand. He stepped through hesitantly.

He hated these places. Imagine coming here to cheer yourself up. Or even to think. But he'd come this far – no point in turning tail and running now. The paved path rolled to the right, splitting to meander among the trees and headstones and the imposing walls of the mausoleums. He supposed it could be considered peaceful: in a grey, sad, lonely…dead…kind of way.

He followed the path under a canopy of branches, was somehow surprised to hear the birds chattering overhead. _Maybe it wasn't so bad after all_. The trees parted to reveal a familiar stone bench and the back of a familiar dark head. He stood for a moment, surprised by a catch in his throat, watching as the figure rolled what looked like a small stone over across his knuckles and back into his palm. He tried to remember how many times he had sat and watched him do that with a baseball, mesmerized. Even though he knew the physics principle behind it, it still seemed like a miracle to him – a magic trick. He realized he was spying, cleared his throat to announce his presence and moved forward to drop onto the sun-warmed stone next to him.

"You don't get enough of death on a daily basis?" He heard the words as they left his mouth and suddenly remembered Mariana Sanchez, winced a little in apology.

"Guess that depends on whether or not you think cemeteries are about death."

Charlie glanced around. "Let's see – gravestones. Monuments. Mausoleums. Nope, I'm - I'm feeling comfortable with my first conclusion."

He saw Don smile a little. "Don't think I've ever run into you here before. You stop by a lot to visit Mom?"

"No, I – " He felt suddenly awkward. "I was looking for you."

The stone stopped in mid roll and dropped deftly into the palm. "Me? Here? How's that?"

"I thought…" Charlie felt his ears grow warm. "Liz – um – told me about – about yesterday…"

The stone started a new roll across the knuckles. "…and you did some kind of math thing and decided…?"

"No. Um – no. I – I also saw…about Jackson Bowers. And I thought..." He caught Don's narrow-eyed glance and added hastily, "I was _not_ going through your stuff! It was lying on top of your desk. I went to your office looking for you, and…"

Don looked a little skeptical, but his expression still softened. "And you put two and two together. Or some more impressive mathematical equation."

Charlie smiled. "Something like that. So. Here. How come?"

Don shrugged. "I dunno. It's a good place to think. Quiet."

"Yeah - among all the dead people. I can imagine that would be pretty quiet." Don was silent, so he pressed, "So. Jackson Bowers. Did you know him?"

Don nodded.

Charlie shifted, uncertain what to say. "Sorry."

"Not - not well. But - I don't know. All of a sudden, it just seemed…" He shook his head. "I don't know. Too much death, I guess."

"So you came to a cemetery."

Don shot him a look, the stone rolling an incessant pattern from knuckles to palm. "Like I said. Depends how you think about cemeteries."

Charlie glanced around at the gravestones. "Enlighten me."

"People at peace, I guess. Nobody rushing to get anywhere, accomplish anything. Nobody talking." He gave Charlie a meaningful look. "Usually."

"Oh." Charlie cleared his throat as realization dawned. "I could - um - "

"Naw. 'Sokay." He gave the stone a toss, caught it deftly. "You were lookin' for me, huh? What for?"

"Oh." Charlie glanced around again, suddenly uncomfortable. This didn't really seem the place…or the time…"Um…nothing important."

Don stopped his action with the stone. "You dragged yourself all the way down here for nothing important?"

"No, I - " Charlie shifted. "I - started looking for you to talk about something, but then I ran into Liz, and I - I thought maybe - well. That you might like company. Or something."

Don rolled the stone between his palms. "I'm okay, Chuck. Just - needed a little space."

_Space._ Charlie couldn't quite decide why that word sounded so ominous among the grave plots.

"Do you have one? I mean, reserved?"

Don looked thoughtful, the stone pausing in its journey. "You mean, like, pre-paid? On installments?"

Suddenly Charlie hated this conversation, so he just shrugged.

"No. Probably should. So you and Dad don't have to – you know."

"You'll probably outlive us both anyway."

Don grinned. "Yeah. Who knows. Right?" He tossed the stone and caught it. "You know you're gonna crack, Chuck. Might as well just spill."

Charlie opened his mouth to protest indignantly, so he was surprised and irritated when out instead came, "I was talking to McGowan."

The stone stopped dead, then disappeared between Don's palms. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Thinking about it, he was mad all over again. "He told me something about you."

Don raised his brows, but said nothing.

"Or maybe I should say, he let me listen to something."

This time there was a flicker in Don's expression and the stone started up again. "No kidding."

"No kidding." Charlie's tone was sharp, forceful. "A tape. What the hell were you thinking, Don?"

Don pursed his lips. "…about…?"

"You know what I'm talking about! You offered – you _threatened_ to resign unless my clearance was reinstated!"

"Oh. That." The stone stilled and Don leaned forward, elbows on knees. "So?"

"You – your life! Your whole career! You think I'd want to be responsible for you throwing that away?"

Don looked at him at that. "I don't remember you even being in the room."

"You KNOW what I'm saying! Why didn't you TALK to me before you did something like that?"

Don sighed, leaning back into the bench. "You think I tossed my career – almost fifteen years of work – down the crapper - just to protect your part time gig, huh?"

Charlie shrugged. "Maybe not. But I think you might have tossed your career down the crapper in a fit of anger, just to show them that they couldn't push us around."

Don's eyes glinted. "Maybe it was a little bit that," he admitted with a ghost of a smile.

Charlie paused, eyeing him. "You told them you didn't think you could do your job without me."

"Yeah." He nodded. "I meant that."

"Don, you're a decorated agent, multiple times. You were one of the only team that ever put away two on the FBI most wanted list in the same day. You were one of the youngest SACs to ever run an office in Albuquerque. I think you did your job just fine before I showed up – better than fine."

Don stared sightlessly at a nearby mausoleum. "You weren't ever supposed to hear that."

"No kidding."

Don glanced at him. "I mean – no offense, Chuck, but I didn't mean it like you think."

Charlie pushed his brows together. "Okay. Tell me."

Don blew out a breath and sank back into the stone backrest, eyes on the small rock in his fingers. "Sure, I can do my job fine. But it's never a solo job, you know? We got forensics, we got behaviorists, we got a hundred people - all kinds of skills and scientists and investigators and administrators and academics and SWAT and sharpshooters to back us up. I know my job well enough to know that it always goes better if you're not afraid to call on an expert for support." He rubbed the small stone between his forefinger and thumb. "Could we get there without you? Maybe. Even probably. Eventually." The stone disappeared into his palm. "How many lives do you suppose there are in an eventually? I don't want to find out."

Charlie opened his mouth, then closed it again abruptly, afraid Don would stop speaking.

"One thing I learned early in my career - you can't be afraid to be a little creative, to look outside procedures. Any tool you can find to help you move faster, keep people safer - use it. So. Knowing you were right there - that there were things you could do to help us get there faster that I wasn't using while lives and safety were at stake - how could I live with that? How could I do my job knowing that I hadn't used every conceivable resource available to me, that I wasn't allowed? And every time somebody died or was injured or destroyed while we were looking for answers - would I ask myself, what if Charlie had been in here with us? Would that have made this avoidable?" He took a deep breath. "You bet your ass I would." For a long moment there was no sound except the scatter of birdsong. Don cupped his hands around the stone, as though keeping it safe. "I couldn't do my job like that. It would make me nuts. Hell, it comes close enough to making me nuts now, some days. So," he tried to smile. The effect wasn't entirely convincing. "If I can only offer less than my best, I can't do the job. For better or for worse, you've become part of me doing my best." He shot Charlie a sideways glance. "You're pretty quiet."

Charlie blinked. "I'm trying to remember if I've ever heard you string so many consecutive sentences together before."

Don't mouth quirked. "We can't all be talkers, buddy." He paused. "Disappointed?"

Charlie narrowed his eyes at the gravestone a few feet away. "No," he said at last. "Just the opposite, I think. This makes me feel more - I don't know, equal. Not just little brother under big brother's protection."

Don gave him a shove with his shoulder. "You don't need my protection any more. Not really."

"No." Charlie nodded. He plucked the stone from Don's fingers and tilted it toward the sun, watching the rays glint off the edges. "But - don't stop. Okay?"

Don leaned his head back, catching the sunlight, smile spreading. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Charlie gave a short laugh. "Right." He snuk a glance at Don's profile and hesitated, he looked so relaxed. But the sun caught the drawn lines around his mouth and the bruising circles rimming his eyes and he steeled himself and ventured cautiously, "So, accepting I can protect myself - that must be the big one, huh? Make it easier to accept that you can't protect everybody?"

Don's eyes had slid closed, but they shot open at that, shoulders stiffening visibly.

"Because you can't. Doesn't matter how good you are - how hard you try. That's just the way it is. I mean, sometimes your best is all you can do. And sometimes it just won't feel like enough."

Don turned to look at him at that, head tilting curiously.

Charlie smiled self consciously. "Liz said to tell you that. Said that even when you know it, sometimes you need to hear it."

Don turned forward again, pushed his back erect. "God," he managed, half under his breath. He rubbed his hands together as though looking for the stone, rested his elbows on his knees when he came up empty. "Mariana."

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Well, this part just kept going on and on and on, so I had to finally put a period to it in self defense. This is the result. You'll just have to picture Don and Charlie's conversation over beer for yourselves._

_**Part Three**_

Don turned forward again, pushed himself to sit erect. "God," he managed, half under his breath. He rubbed his hands together as though looking for the stone, rested his elbows on his knees when he came up empty. "Mariana."

Charlie hesitated, but the silence made him uncomfortable. "Did you work with her a lot?"

"Enough. Recently. She'd only been back from maternity leave about - oh, a year or so, I guess."

Charlie's heart contracted. "She was a mom?"

Don nodded. "Two little girls. She brought them in on Halloween this year. The littlest one was barely walking. She was dressed as a pumpkin. You know - with the little stem thing for a hat? She had these big eyes…" he fell silent, and Charlie watched his throat work in a swallow. After a second he continued painfully, "The other one - the older one - she was a fairy princess, with these little see-through pink wings and this big sparkly foamy skirt… She had this wand with a star on the end, and she kept hitting everybody with it. Mariana called it a concealed weapon…" his voice broke and his head dropped. Charlie sat helpless as he watched the knotted shoulders heave and then tighten again. "But I don't know. I think she was just trying to make our wishes come true." His breath caught. "Guess maybe I need to get me one of those wands, huh?'

Charlie bit his lip, but it didn't stop the impulse. "Donnie - "

Don lifted his head again, eyes going automatically to the nearby headstone. "Remember how Mom always made the best Halloween costumes? I mean, even when we knew what we wanted to be, she had the best ideas for how to make it work. Remember? I just keep thinking, who's going to help them with their Halloween costumes now?"

Charlie swallowed, at a loss. Numbers detailing how many Halloween costumes would be needed for two little girls from this age until eighteen flew through his mind, but somehow he didn't think that would help and managed to squash them down. "What does their dad do?"

Don ran a hand over his eyes. "ATF. He's a good guy. But – nothing takes the place of a mom. You know that."

Charlie nodded bleakly. He searched his brain for something comforting to say, but came up empty. "Yeah." He glanced again at the stone he was still holding, warm from Don's hands, then at the nearby headstone. He noticed for the first time a scattering of similar stones dotting the top. "Do you come here a lot?"

Don had been grinding at his eyes with his fingers, but he looked up at that, blinking to clear his vision. "I don't know about a lot. When I can." He followed Charlie's gaze. "Those aren't all mine. Dad, probably, some of them. Or, who knows? Maybe somebody else."

"Somebody Jewish."

Don shrugged. "Or who knows Jewish customs."

"Yeah." Charlie paused. "Why stones, anyway? Did your Rabbi ever say?"

Don shook his head. "Nobody knows for sure. There are a lot of theories, though. Maybe started with old cairns…and flowers are kinda hard to come by in a desert culture."

"I guess." Charlie cupped his hands around the stone, studying it. "Do you – what about you? I mean, about all this? Do you think death ends everything, or…?"

Don gave a gusty sigh, then was silent for so long that Charlie turned to look at him, wondering if he was going to bother to answer. But Don was staring straight ahead, as though trying to figure something out…almost as if he was…and Charlie wasn't sure he wasn't projecting this…counting.

At last Don said, "I've seen a lot of dead bodies, buddy. And a lot them have been at my hand. I've…I don't know. I need to believe it's a possibility. Even if I'm only kidding myself. You? No, huh?"

Charlie made a face. "It doesn't – it doesn't make any sense. On the other hand, matter is never really destroyed…" He rolled the stone over. "Remember the dream I told you I had about Mom? A few years ago."

Don nodded, eyes on his face.

"I had another one, a couple of days later. After…after your run in with…what was that guy's name…Chandler…"

"Yates."

"Yeah. Him."

"More pancakes?"

"No." Charlie frowned at the stone cradled protectively in the hollow of his hand. "I told her - I'd figured out what I wanted to ask her." Don just watched him. "And then I asked her. And - she answered. I mean, I guess it could have been my subconscious answering. That's what most dreams - "

Don chuckled.

"Come on, Don - it makes more sense than the alternative."

Don leaned back and propped his elbows on the back of the bench. "Okay."

"Then she told me that Dad and I were a lot alike. That we were both always so sure of ourselves."

"Huh. You and your subconscious have some pretty long conversations."

"But that you and she were - not so much."

Don had been in the process of sliding on his sunglasses, but he paused at that and looked at Charlie over the lenses. "She said that?"

"Well. In my dream."

Don lowered the sunglasses, letting them hang from his fingers by the earpieces. His brows twitched together, but he remained silent.

"Or my subconscious did. Thing is…" Charlie pursed his lips, his eyes drifting back to the headstone, "…I'm not sure my subconscious knew that."

"Careful, Chuck. You're getting dangerously close to admitting to the possibility of the unknown."

"All mathematicians and scientists accept the possibility of the unknown - they just don't accept that it's unknowable."

The corners of Don's mouth quirked upward.

"So. Is it true?"

"What's that? Life after death?"

"You know what I mean. That you're not really so sure of yourself."

The silence was a little more charged this time. Finally Don said, "You're going to challenge the all-knowingness of your subconscious? Or, worse yet, Mom?"

"You seem really sure of yourself, Don. I mean, all the time."

"Yeah, well." Don shifted positions, this time pushing his sunglasses in place. "As a mathematician and a scientist, you should know better than to take evidence at face value."

"You mean empirical data."

"Yeah. That."

"So." Charlie looked at him expectantly.

Don raised his brows. "So?"

"So, what about you? Do you ever - you know - see her? Dream about her?"

Don was facing him, but Charlie couldn't read his eyes through the dark lenses. After a second, Don turned away and shook his head.

Charlie blinked. "Really? Never?"

"I guess my subconscious must not be as talkative as yours."

Charlie stared at him, suddenly uncomfortable, suddenly feeling that this was just one more thing he'd been gifted that Don hadn't. Somehow, he couldn't let it go at that. "Not - not even once?"

Don blew out a breath and reached under the lenses to rub at his eyes. "Maybe once."

Charlie's face relaxed in a relieved smile. "So, tell me. Come on, I told you."

Don gave a crack of laughter. "You never change. Okay - um - it was at the house. Your house, I mean."

Charlie nodded encouragement.

Don sighed reluctantly. "That's all. It was - while I was hanging out there. Getting my wind back."

"After you were stabbed."

"Yeah. Then."

Charlie waited another second, then bounced impatiently. "That was it? Didn't she say anything?"

Don pulled down the sunglasses to look at him. "You know, for a guy who doesn't believe in this stuff, you're pretty curious about it."

"I'm - trying to keep an open mind. You know - collecting data."

"Empirical data."

"Right." He waited again, then rolled his eyes. "So?"

"So…no. She didn't talk. Not exactly."

"So she, what? Just stood there?"

Don grimaced, and Charlie could almost swear he saw the tops of his ears darken.

"No, she…kind of…sang."

"Sang?" Charlie bent forward, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes. "Really?"

Don shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah. One night when I was having trouble sleeping… because I was a little sore. I guess I finally fell into a doze and…there she was."

"A little sore. Translation, 'in excruciating pain'?"

Don shot him a look. "You wanna tell this thing, or you want me to?"

Charlie held up his hands. "Point taken. Go on."

"Nothing to tell, really. That was it. She sat on the edge of the sofa, and…sang."

"What did she sing?"

Don pulled off his glasses and gnawed on an earpiece. "I don't know. I think it was - in Yiddish. Thing is…" He looked down at his sunglasses as though just noticing them, folded them neatly. "I don't know Yiddish, Charlie."

They sat quietly for a moment, lost in their thoughts and the overlaying birdsong.

"I guess…I mean, if she'd sung it to you as a baby, say - it could be in your subconscious, even if you didn't remember. They say we never really forget anything, we just misplace it."

The silence was even longer this time, then Don sighed through his nose. "I guess."

"And…I mean, I could have noticed you weren't always sure of yourself - even unconsciously."

Don didn't answer.

Charlie's brows crunched together suddenly. "You never told me." It came out sounding a little aggrieved.

Don glanced at him quizzically.

"The first thing I did after I woke up and dropped Dad off was go to the FBI office to tell you about my dream. The very first thing. You never told me at all, and I was right in the same house."

Don's glance skimmed over him. "You were a little preoccupied."

"I - " Charlie remembered his obsession with the serial killer and bobbed his head reluctantly. "Maybe a little, but - "

"Charlie, you couldn't even remember I was there. You acted surprised to see me every time - kept asking me what I was doing there."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." He couldn't remember, really. "Well, still. You could have said something later."

Don slid further down on his spine. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe I…was afraid you'd tell me it was only my subconscious. Maybe I just wasn't ready to hear that."

"Oh." Charlie slid down himself. He kneaded the stone between his palms, realized what he was doing and stopped to look at it. "Do you remember when I was working on P vs. NP?"

Don snorted. "Which time?"

Charlie shot him a look. "The last time. The Charm School Boys."

"Of course I do."

"Larry told me the equation was unsolvable. I said that of course the people who failed to solve it might think so."

"If there's a point, here, Chuck, then I'm not getting it."

"I guess my point is…that even though I'm the one who said it? Sometimes I forget that. I forget that, of course the people who don't know the answer assume there isn't one. That sometimes, maybe that person is me."

This time the silence lingered. Sunlight slanted over the headstone, glinting off of the grouping of stones on top.

After a long moment, Don stirred. "So…let me just see if I'm understanding this - you're actually saying that you might be wrong?"

"Not _wrong_, per se…" Charlie noticed he was clutching the stone and smiled a little. "Just - exploring the possibility that I may not have enough data to form a real hypothesis. At this time."

"Ah." Don nodded. "But - not exactly right."

"Neither right or wrong - that the results are - inconclusive."

"Uh huh." Don leaned forward and let his elbows rest on his knees. "Charlie Eppes without all the answers. Let me just savor this one for a minute."

"I never - I don't say - "

"Ssh…" Don held up a hand. "I'm savoring."

Charlie grinned in spite of himself. "All right. Since you've had a rough day." He looked back at the small stone. "What do you do with these, anyway?"

Don glanced at his hands. "Put them on top of the headstone. And - there's a prayer you say, in memoriam. Yizkor. Well, it's supposed to be said at synagogue, but I figure that's just a technicality." Charlie held the stone out for him to take back, but he shook his head. "I've got a couple more."

"Yeah?" Charlie looked at the stone more closely, suddenly frowned. "Hey - where did you get these, anyway?"

Don's face grew bland. "The garden…" he said vaguely.

Charlie's frown deepened. "MY garden…?"

Don's face didn't change, but there was a suspicious twinkle deep in his eyes. "Somehow I still think of it as hers."

"Oh." Somewhat deflated, Charlie cradled his stone. "So, is this prayer in Hebrew, or English?"

"Hebrew. But I can do English, if you want."

"English."

"Of course, if I do Hebrew you'll know how the rest of us feel during one of your math explanations." Charlie opened his mouth and Don held up a hand again to stop him. "Joking."

Charlie looked at the stone one more time, then leaned forward to place it gingerly on top of the headstone with its fellows. "Like that?"

"Yeah." Don pulled another one out of his coat pocket and set his next to Charlie's, so that the small stones were touching. Hesitantly, he began, "May the L-rd remember the soul of my mother, my teacher, Margaret," he paused awkwardly. "You're supposed to use her Hebrew name, but I don't know it. I keep meaning to ask Dad…"

Charlie closed his eyes. "Go on."

Don took a deep breath and continued. "Who has gone on to her world, because, without making a vow, I shall give to charity on her behalf. As reward for this, may her soul be bound in the Bond of Life, together with the souls of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah; and together with the other righteous men and women in the Garden of Eden. Now let us respond: Amen."

"Amen." Charlie whispered, his throat suddenly tight. He opened his eyes and looked at the rocks gathered on top, grouped together like markers of time. Like a little family. The sun was lower now, and they threw oblong shadows. He found to his surprise that he had to clear his throat before he could speak again. "Do you have two more?"

Don frowned. "Stones?"

"Yeah."

"What for?"

"I thought - maybe we could do it for Mariana Sanchez."

Don's expression wobbled and he looked away. "You don't - " his voice rasped and he tried again. "You're supposed to do it for family. After a year has passed. And Mariana doesn't have a headstone yet."

Charlie shrugged. "Just more technicalities, right? Family means a lot of things. And I don't think Mom would mind sharing. With another mom."

Don pulled two more stones out of his pocket and stared at them.

"Come on, Don. That's really why you're here, right?"

Wordlessly, Don handed him one of the stones. Charlie closed his eyes again, partly, this time, to give Don some privacy.

Don's voice was husky as he began, "May the L-rd remember the soul of Mariana, who has gone on to her world, because, without making a vow, I shall give to charity on her behalf. As reward for this, may her soul be bound in the Bond of Life - " Don's voice clogged, broke.

Charlie took a deep breath. "…May her soul be bound in the Bond of Life," thank God for a genius memory, "…together with the souls of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah; and together with the other righteous men and women in the Garden of Eden. Now let us respond: Amen."

He heard Don's breath catch next to him. "Amen," he managed.

Charlie placed his stone on the headstone, took Don's out of his lax grasp and placed it next to his. One for each of Mariana's daughters, he couldn't help musing. "Maybe someday…you can tell her girls about this. Maybe that's really what binds our souls to the Bonds of Life."

Don gave a watery chuckle. "You're cracking, Chuck…we're winning you over."

Charlie smiled. "I'm…gathering data." He gazed at the headstone, wondering why such a small thing could feel so satisfying…sacred. "Maybe the stones represent the other righteous men and women in the Garden of Eden. Adam's bones were made of stones, right?"

Don shook his head. "The death of a skeptic. You've got it bad."

Charlie looked dignified. "I am thoroughly exploring all the options. Like a good scientist." He looked around. "It's pretty here. In a way."

Don nodded, rested a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "So. What do you say we go home. Have a beer."

Charlie nodded his agreement, managed to stand without dislodging Don's hand. "You feeling any better?"

Don sighed. "Give me a little time, Chuck."

"Okay." Charlie let Don steer him towards the path, paused to look back. The shadows of the stones were longer now, stretching down over the edge of the headstone, as though they had taken root. "Do you think we could do this again sometime?"

Don's arm slid around his neck, squeezed. "Definitely. Better circumstances, maybe."

"Yeah." They fell into step, the silence between them now warm and comfortable. But Charlie still couldn't resist breaking it. "Hey, Don?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I do remember some Hebrew."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"L'Chaim."

Don stopped dead, looked at him. "L'Chaim," he repeated softly. Then he grinned. "Next you'll be telling me that cemeteries aren't really about death."

Charlie returned the grin, slid his own arm around Don's shoulders. "Maybe not quite that. Maybe just that…death is really just a part of life." They started walking again. "So. What charity are you going to give to in Mariana's name?"

Don's eyes narrowed. "Don't know yet." He gave Charlie a sideways glance. "Know any that make Halloween costumes?"

_The End_


End file.
